fucking_ebay: (misc | teleportation)
[personal profile] fucking_ebay
Peter's a far cry from the shrinking violet he used to be when it came to taking advantage of his powers. Or power, singular, but now that he can use it properly he has to admit that it's a fucking good power.

So fucking good that maybe he's become just a bit cavalier with it.

Really, teleporting while drunk could have gone much worse. The thought is sobering, but not sobering enough to prevent him from stumbling over to fetch up against Seth's refrigerator with a giddy, nervous laugh when it registers that no, this is definitely not Gabriel's flat. "Jesus," he says, brushing it off in that way one can when one is not quite entirely mentally present. "That was a piss poor idea. Where the fuck?"
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Sad | ultimately helpless)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Existence without form or breath or shape is disorienting, the spread of atoms over a plane he doesn't recognize, with the repeated dissolutions and reshapings of an indistinct self. At one point there was pain, and the unspooling of himself into light and purpose, and for a long while there is only amorphous drifting. He hits barriers, dissonant and frequent, where once he should have crossed from one plane to another, one reality to the next, in an effortless slide of energy across the universal boundaries. It is difficult to define emotional state outside of the human context - he only knows that he is not human - but it is a state of affairs that generates confused distress.

Temporal sequencing becomes a problem.

Awareness, too, is difficult to achieve. Gradually he is able to pull together the various components that comprise himself and reshape them into something capable of perception, but doing so strikes him with a revelation disconsolate, and that is that there are no Others here - no Ancients, nothing, simply an empty plane of shifting light and bottomless dark. And he is alone.

He knows he did this, and it was for a reason. But he finds he cannot remember anything, not immediately, and when the memories trickle back with his concentrated effort they are unfiltered and unstructured and unordered until finally he can impose the alien concept of linear time upon the thing, and fully interpret what he is in comparison to what he was.

Daniel Jackson.

The name is the linchpin that generates the outward ripples, spreading from that singular point of origin. It triggers the flood of remembrance, the 'gate, Manhattan, the locked-away knowledge that was once sealed in his head but now coalesces seamlessly into the whole of him now. He cannot delineate his form by shape or size or mass, not any longer, but now he remembers, he remembers what it is he can do and how it is he can do it.

He starts small because he must, drifting as a pair of hydrogen atoms while he glimpses the city on a reduced scale. Then he builds to it, the recollection of his shape. Spectrally manifesting was never truly allowed before, but if there are no Others then he is not bound by their laws. He assembles a body that resembles the one that was human and familiar, and projects it. It takes two tries to succeed, three to sustain it for longer than a meaningless collection of seconds, and no matter what he tries he cannot force his shape to manifest with glasses. Apparently his inner self, or however he chooses to define it, does not need them.

He loses track of how many attempts he makes before he can maintain his form visibly for any significant length of time. But finally, in a ragged burst of energy, the bewildered shape of Daniel Jackson reappears in Manhattan, and there he stays.

[ooc: Daniel Ascended back during the Rift Shitfit of September 4th, and he's only just figured out how to Do Things in his new state of being. Right now he's completely intangible and frequently phasing in and out of visible existence. I've added to his handy-dandy reference post as to what he can and can't do in this state. He can also show up LITERALLY ANYWHERE so if you want in on Ascended funtimes just pick a date and a location, or Daniel can pick one, or whatever.]
postictal: (behind you)
[personal profile] postictal
[tw: some brutality and beating, later some panic and flashbacking to hospitalization]

Keep your head down, stay off the radar, just act like the normal person you aren't, and everything will be fine.

That was the general idea.

Was.

But then, he should've expected something like this. When you come home from work and the door's not been open a minute before a couple ominously stone-faced guys come striding in, it generally throws up a few warning flags. And when opening your mouth to ask um sorry, but what the hell incites one of them to bring you down in a hard tackle that sends your cheek stinging against the carpet and your knees scraping along the ground, pure fight-or-flight impulse kicks in. Fight and flight, actually, and Tim manages to crack one of them a solid right hook across the jaw that leaves a darkening bruise before they wrestle him into submission. Maybe if he wasn't him right now - fuck.

In the end, there isn't much he can do against two guys who look to have something like six inches on him, and a few minutes of hopeless thrashing and several well-placed kicks to his ribs later, it's pretty much a lost cause. The apartment interior's a wreck; Tim definitely heard something shatter on his way to the ground, and he feels the distant, bizarre urge the apologize to Jay for being responsible for fucking things up yet again. He's sorry, Jay, really he is. He didn't mean to this time, honestly.

And that's when one of the guys sinks a fist into his stomach, and Tim loses track of things for a little while as his entire respiratory system promptly goes to shit.

He wakes in a little square room of concrete walls and windowless gloom.

Fuck. Fuck no. He lurches to his feet, all dizziness and nausea, and pounds at the door that looks more solid than any locked hospital door fuck, and he screams let him out and is anyone there? and please I need help please until his voice rasps into hoarseness and his vocal chords feel wet, as if they're torn and bleeding. His fists sting from banging against the door, its impassively hollow tone drumming against his ears. His jacket's gone. His medication. They fucking took it off him, they took everything, they took him away, and if there's anything he can do to help his situation, it's think and be calm and be compliant and be cooperative and not panic right now, which he isn't, who would even think that?

Because he's not a scared little kid anymore. He's not, he swears he's not. There's nothing tall and specter-like in the room with him, and he's not curled in the corner with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them and he's not huddled like he's eight years old again, because he's not the lost little boy crammed into a hospital room with a plethora of confusing and contradictory symptoms. He's not.

It's just a dream, and any moment he's going to wake up.

Shitfit!

Apr. 26th, 2015 07:28 pm
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
All is right in Manhattan this week.

It is a week like any other. The little creatures that dot the surface of the land scuttle to and fro about their business, each amusingly convinced of its own importance. A number of them relocate themselves with an unusual degree of difficulty. Some die. Some do not die. One or two new ones, the special kind, arrive.

And then…and then something is not right in Manhattan. Something is, in fact, wrong, incorrect, and unacceptable. Two -- no, four -- no, two of the little scuttling things --

-- THEY HAVE NO RIGHT --

-- WHY CAN'T IT --

-- CAN'T CLOSE, CAN'T STOP THEM --

GONE!


Gone!! The Rift claps furiously closed, but too late. Too late! They're gone, they've left, and they had no right! It did not permit them! Two they took with them only even existed thanks to the Rift, and those -- THOSE UPSTARTS --

It can't reach the ones who caused the superficial injury that's already healing (that's scarring over, it will NEVER AGAIN ALLOW THIS), and so the Rift lashes out at the ones who remain in their place. It can feel the little pets that remain, all of them, and it will remind them who owns them.


[OOC: Right! Andrew and James have escaped from New York just like Snake Plissken and the Rift is having a shitfit over it. Tag into this post for general Rift-related shenanigans; there will be a separate post for characters who want to attack ROMAC.

The Rift will inflict a wide variety of little inconveniences and torments on the people it considers its own, and players can choose what their characters will face. These should be things that could more or less go unnoticed by the population at large (so no city-wide effects, and please be careful to avoid anything that would effectively godmode other people's characters). Anything that's happened in a past Rift event is fair game, as are personal rainclouds, randomly appearing objects and animals, involuntary transformations, and just about anything else on the personal level. On a somewhat broader level, expect to find random acres of the Ramble transformed into jungle, redwood forest, wintery pines, and various other types of Incorrect Wilderness.]
peacefulexplorer: (Nerdery | Book | Look Up | Huh?)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Today has been...interesting.

That's certainly a word for it.

Fortunately, Daniel has experience with "interesting." He does not, however, have a whole lot of experience with handling felines, particularly of the roommates-turned-felines-who-may-or-may-not-be-incapable-of-digesting-normal-food variety, so figuring out what Seth could eat in his somewhat furrier form has been an exercise in exasperation and barely bit-back amusement. It certainly was a trial attempting to cook while inexplicably hovering two feet above the ground, though cautious experimentation proved that Daniel could pull himself down to regular ground-level, in a manner of speaking, if he clung to a table leg or even the edge of the couch. But as soon as he let go, he would simply float back up again, perfectly suspended two feet over the apartment floor with next to no explanation as to how.

Hopefully this won't last long.

Daniel's phone has been buzzing intermittently all day, which has been both rewarding and frustrating. He's been able to tell a few things - for one, it's not just them. For another, everyone's being affected very differently, from being forced to spill out a slew of secrets to being practically forced to tell lies. Whatever Rift thing this is, the initial amusement at dealing with Seth's feline shape had faded very quickly.

Speaking of which.

Daniel glances up from his phone after punching out the last message to favor the curled-up ball of brown fur with a look of concern. He seems pretty much asleep from his position next to him - well, sort of next to him. Daniel is, for all intents and purposes, sitting cross-legged, though he's still levitating a good foot or so above the bed.

"Someone's coming," he says cautiously, unable to keep the note of apology from his voice. "He's, ah - bringing cat food." Wince. "Sorry."
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo beauty and the beast stained glass rose-NZWR_sm_zpsadnbeqxz.png


The twenty-seventh of August dawns bright and clear, but when your characters wake up, they will immediately notice something wrong. They've woken up the wrong size, or species, or age. Or perhaps everything seems normal until they take a bite of their apple-flavored toaster strudel, or attempt to speak, or wander into the woods, or bump into that old crone in the subway and fail to adequately apologize. However it happens, there's no getting around it: your characters are cursed, like an unfortunate out of a fairy tale.

On the bright side, many curses can be broken. Unfortunately, none of them come with user manuals, so how they might be broken isn't clear. Perhaps true love's kiss will do it, or a heroically sacrificial act, or some serious reflection followed by revelatory insight into your own soul. Or, y'know, whatever. But it's far more likely that your character will just be stuck with whatever it is until sunset, when any and all remaining curses will be broken.

[OOC: Feel free to use this post for initial reactions to whatever curse your character has found themselves suffering. Any additional posts for more specified shenanigans can go up under the 'events: curses' tag. Sunset is a little after 7:30 PM. Backdating and backtagging are the best and you should do both of those things if necessary.]
peacefulexplorer: (Sad | Thoughtful | Downcast)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Well, it had to happen sometime. Really, it's a good thing he anticipated it and made a plan beforehand, and at least has a last resort in case of emergency - which this is, relatively speaking. He's just grateful Lucy was kind enough to tip him off in time for him to clear out of her old place, and avoid confrontation with the Rebels directly. That's an encounter he'll gladly evade for as long as possible.

It's also turned out to be a good thing he hadn't ever properly gotten settled there, Daniel can't help but think ruefully as he crosses another street and glances warily over one shoulder, a rather battered-looking duffel in hand. He really didn't have much to pack, save the few necessities he had on hand, Spike's books, and the old BDUs he hasn't touched in over a month. Ideally he would have removed any trace that anyone had lived there at all, but there simply hadn't been enough time. The most he could do was clear the apartment of any indication of who specifically had been squatting in Lucy's absence, and the next step was heading to the only place he could think of to go.

Some thirty minutes later, Daniel finds himself ringing the downstairs doorbell of Seth's building, shoulders sagging sheepishly.
powerdealer: (92)
[personal profile] powerdealer
[Warning for drug use, and lots of emotions.]

This week's been a lot more decent than most. The first actually pleasant shared dream in ages certainly helped with that. Getting to talk to Gabe about Daniel, and hearing how good things were with him and Johnny, and then actually getting to cuddle up with Daniel. Sure, that conversation had taken a few uncomfortable detours, but mostly it had been nice. And then yesterday he'd gotten to show Daniel the apartment he'd found for him, which is somewhere Seth can actually visit without having a nervous breakdown. Things are good. The only bad thing right now is the slow onset of withdrawal. His friends are doing good. Things might actually be looking up.

Or maybe he's just becoming complacent. That might explain why he decides to risk taking his morphine injection at his apartment. It's not the first time, he's done it a couple times now, without any problems. Anyway, Gabe usually comes down unannounced in the mornings, bearing breakfast, and it's closer to noon now.

Seth puts on some quiet music, then sets up on the table in front of the couch, with calm and methodical movements that come with routine. A carefully measured dose, not large enough to make him completely out of it, but still enough to take away the aches and anxiety, carefully injected into his left arm. He sighs in relief as the blissful feeling spreads through him, making both his mind and his body comfortably numb. He waits for the initial rush to pass, then sets his things aside, rolls down his sleeve, and relaxes back into the couch, doing nothing but listening to the music and letting his mind drift.
i_jones: (thank you intern ianto)
[personal profile] i_jones
Once you get to the TARDIS - because you did follow those blue balloons through Central Park, didn't you, you got that clue, and maybe those of you with good (or not-bad) intentions found it a little easier to find, and were drawn to it, even - anyway, once you get to the TARDIS, you find a sign on the door, which is ajar. No, not that sign, a handwritten sign taped to the front that says PARTY (I PROMISE) with an arrow pointing inside. And yes, oh, isn't the console room nice, how merry-go-round, whatever. More importantly, there are signs on every door out of the room that say assorted things like PARTY THIS WAY and ALSO THIS WAY and JUST PICK ONE REALLY. There is one festive balloon tied to the console.

If you go through any or all of the doors, you'll find yourself in a room with a very large pool (that one might say looks like this one except much grander in scale). The pool is lined, not excessively, with taps in various shapes, sizes, and colors. Some pump out bubbles, some foam, some clouds, some... who knows? Surrounding the pool are chairs and tables with appetizers, desserts, drinks, and various types of cake. Also pie. There's a jukebox tucked into a corner playing a mixture of 80s songs, unfamiliar songs from various points in the future, and the occasional song in an alien language with a good beat. There are rooms if you need to change, and some doors might even take you to the wardrobe room if you need a bathing suit. And I guess you could explore further if you really wanted to, but why do that when you can party? Because most doors will probably lead you back to the pool room, let's be real.
peacefulexplorer: (Phone | Texting | Action)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
For the life (or death) of him, Daniel can't decide what it is he did to deserve a friend like Seth, who has apparently been devoting time to finding Daniel a new place of residence. What's more, unlike Daniel, it seems like he's actually succeeded in locating something feasible. With some of the creative dodging of the building management he's had to do, it's very likely that Lucy's old place won't be tenable for much longer. It'll be frustrating no longer having friends like Bee or Spike or Melanie in easy reach, but the potential consequences of the Rebels forcibly evicting him or, even worse, deciding he could be an asset of some kind, aren't ones he can afford to ignore.

He's putting a lot of faith in someone else's judgment over a potential new living space, but he trusts Seth. He trusts him, and he likes him, and it'd be nice to have a place Seth could visit once in a while instead of Daniel always crashing at his, if only for reciprocation's sake. He already likes the location, far enough removed from the Rebels or ROMAC's respective bases of operations while still within a reasonable radius in relation to the Rift center. The latter wasn't a necessity, but Daniel more or less feels like he needs to have some means for access to it, if only for the sake of any other rifties who might come through. And it's only a few blocks away from the bookstore he may have landed a job at, no less.

Daniel re-checks the address texted to him by Seth, then crams his phone back into his pocket and waits.
powerdealer: (42)
[personal profile] powerdealer
[Warning: This thread deals mainly with drug withdrawal, so there's gonna be a lot of heavy subjects. And also pining.]

Seth waits a good while after he gets the last text from Daniel, since it'll take him at the very least a good forty minutes to get downtown. However, waiting is not currently exactly his favourite activity.

Read more... )
powerdealer: (76)
[personal profile] powerdealer
[Warning: Lots of focus on suicide, with a side of drug and alcohol use, plenty of traumatic subjects.]


Seth should start keeping a tally of number of times Daniel gets to watch him die in a dream. Only two so far, but that's in less than three weeks of knowing him, so who knows what it will be over time? He's long since given up on keeping track of when he dies in a dream in general, since that's not a terribly unusual occurrence, but it's rarer for it to happen in shared ones.

He had given up on sleep more or less immediately after waking up. The fear he had felt, the hopelessness, it was all a bit too real, too familiar, and easily stuck with him. So he had gone out to cope with it in the only way he felt capable of - getting blissfully high.

A few hours later, once morning had properly arrived, and the buzz was wearing off, he returned home. Not ready to deal with being sober however, he had replaced the morphine with alcohol, namely whiskey. The rest of the morning had passed in only somewhat comforting intoxication and anxiety, and then Daniel had texted him, and Seth didn't feel able to answer. It took two hours before he could actually face the idea of seeing him after that ordeal. Not just because of the things he had seen Daniel do, but the things Daniel had seen him do. There's no small amount of shame and self-loathing involved.

But at last he had answered, and now he's waiting for Daniel to get there, anxiously picking at his sleeves and staring at the wall. He's not as drunk as he would like, but he's definitely not sober. It's not going to be a fun conversation.
peacefulexplorer: (this is how it feels to take a fall)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
The knotted mass of guilt in Daniel's chest hasn't gone away by the time he's on his way to Seth's apartment building, again, hands clenching and unclenching and wandering and ducking into his pockets and back out again a minute later.

Daniel feels like an idiot.

He feels like an idiot, because what good could an ordinary library in Manhattan possibly be for this kind of thing? Yesterday had passed in sporadic bursts of anxiety, horror over what the hell might be happening, creeping dread that this might not be reversible and then finally today Daniel's traitorous phone had buzzed to deliver several texts in rapid succession. Texts he should have received a full day ago. Short bursts of words and questions that should read as neutral and impersonal like any other text but don't because Seth had clearly, clearly not been in a good place by the time he'd faded from Daniel's range of vision and he must not have heard or processed any of the prior warnings because the texts all make it bleakly obvious he'd had no idea what was happening. Seth must have assumed the worse.

That would not be atypical for Seth to have assumed the worse.

The idea that Daniel had most assuredly been the cause of that makes him faintly, mildly nauseous.

He has to halt outside the building for a tight minute, his lungs a paradoxical mess of relief and jittering apprehension and no small amount of the always-persistent guilt until at last he makes an unerring line for the figure in front. The visible figure. Daniel's eyes don't slide right past and he doesn't need to constantly refocus and the gradually mounting panic tentatively starts to give way.
powerdealer: (28)
[personal profile] powerdealer
Seth has had a pretty uneventful few days since he last spoke to Daniel, if you don't count getting pretty intensely rained on yesterday (which had sucked, but at least the city isn't exactly cold these days), and thinking for a moment he'd met someone from his home universe before that. That had admittedly been pretty weird, even if it had become evident more or less immediately that Eliot was not Curtis. Still, minor occurrences in pretty slow days, really. Days which have largely been spent mulling about his life.

Read more... )
johnny_truant: (happy just to be with you)
[personal profile] johnny_truant
[mildly, post-coitally nsfw]



"Okay, so," says Johnny once he can talk again. "I don't know about you, but I'm fucking hungry. I'm also pretty sure I can't move. So if I'm gonna make it, you're gonna have to get up."

He rolls onto his stomach and grins at Eliot, who is naked, sweaty, and hot as hell. Johnny is feeling really good right now about having figured out this whole liking-dudes thing. "You wanna cook for me?" he says playfully, running a hand down Eliot's side to settle on his hip. "We could, uh. Well, I don't have a TV, but apparently you can watch movies on computers."

He only barely has a computer. Gabe gave it to him ages ago but he almost never uses it. It's too small and weird and he hates being on the internet. It's all so aggressively fast-paced and weird. It would be better, he thinks, to watch something in Gabe's apartment. That would involve introducing Gabriel to Eliot. An idea he's been toying with for a while now, but he's not sure how to broach it.

"How's that sound?" He leans up and to give Eliot a kiss and misses his mouth somewhat, landing on the slightly scratchy line of his jaw. Which is nice too.
peacefulexplorer: (a little resurrection every time I fall)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Navigating his way to Seth's building without assistance makes Daniel prouder than he has any right to be, but it's just nice to know he's able to adapt and learn his way around. It gives him a sense of accomplishment to contrast with the drifting downward trajectory it feels like his life's taken as of late.

The optimism lasts about as long as it takes for Daniel to find the apartment door. Then he briefly loses his nerve and has to take a minute (or two, or three, certainly no more than four and no, he has absolutely not been counting) to collect all his thoughts into one place and automatically begin assembling a preamble before scrapping the idea almost immediately.

He is not going to start with a formal introduction. That would be ridiculous.

And he's not nervous. Just a shade agitated, maybe. Well within reason. It's just the issue of he and Seth spending a disproportionate amount of time walking around in each others' heads, something that definitely warrants a conversation of some sort. Possibly involving alcohol, and Daniel isn't typically one to make that suggestion lightly.

He's done hesitating. Daniel takes a quick breath and knocks before he can change his mind.
peacefulexplorer: (Frown | Confused | Wary | Question)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Daniel scans the intersection for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, hands crammed in his pockets. He's not anxious and he's certainly not fidgeting. Well. Not overly.

And if he were, hypothetically, fidgeting and shuffling and shifting in one place restlessly, it'd be completely justified given present circumstances. He's just a little on edge, mostly thanks to shared group dreams which are, apparently, possible - something he's recently discovered in the worst way imaginable. He'd been hoping all morning that leaving the apartment and interacting with the real world for a bit would brush away the last few echoes of the nightmare, but there's still a chill in his spine regardless. Expected, but no less unwelcome.

So, yes, he's a little concerned, primarily about Seth. It's true that Seth has lived here for longer - much longer - and he'd acted like he was used to the shared nightmarish experiences by now. Daniel has more than a few issues with that sentiment (the foremost being that horrible nightmares in which people get impaled and imprisoned and die should not be something one gets used to, personal history with nightmares aside) but he's also hoping Seth can clear up a few questions about the Dreaming. It might not have been real in the strictest sense of the word, but it had certainly felt like it.

Also he is worried.

That line of thought just keeps looping on back.

Daniel's phone buzzes, a text from Seth. Soon the phone returns to his pocket as he crosses his arms, takes stock of the intersection again, and waits.
has_a_horn: (Default)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
The night before, Gabriel had hardly spent long enough around Seth to have a proper conversation, and it seems like having Johnny in the room only made it more difficult for that to happen for both of them. This morning, he wakes Johnny, takes Scout out for a walk, then stops by Seth's on his way back.

Hopefully it's not too early and he won't have to drag Seth up out of bed to talk to him.
powerdealer: (20)
[personal profile] powerdealer
Seth's not entirely sure how much he likes being called up as a newbie's guide to superpowers. Any recognition is still a bit too much for him, and he doesn't like meeting at a pre-determined time with someone he doesn't know. But Wilmot's End is just about the only place he feels is safe, neutral ground.

He'd actually showed up pretty early, thinking he might scout for other newbies with fresh powers they might like to get rid of, but he's felt far too anti-social to actually approach anyone. His anxiety's been kicking in, much earlier than he'd like. It's a worrying trend that he's trying very hard not to think about too much.

So he's sitting a little towards the back, nursing a drink and watching the door from his booth. Looking for anyone who looks a little lost and out of place, like they're searching for someone.

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The Big Applesauce

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